


Untrustworthy Wolves

by GiggleSnortBangDead



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Brainwashing, Dark, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, Knotting, M/M, Manipulation, Mating, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:29:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiggleSnortBangDead/pseuds/GiggleSnortBangDead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Which is really why Derek should talk to you about mating soon. You never know what untrustworthy wolf might come and snatch you up.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles was understandably upset when he found Peter Hale on yet another one of his coffee runs. Sure, there were only so many coffee shops in Beacon Hills and mornings were generally a popular time to obtain coffee but he didn’t understand _why_. _Why_ did Peter feel the need to terrorize him - a person obviously uncomfortable with the notion of the werewolf’s very existence.

Hardly a werewolf, Stiles thought to himself as he got in the back of the line. A monster certainly. Sort of a zombie. 

Before Stiles could add anything else to the thought, a hand came into his view. In its clutches was a large, light brown coffee cup with cardboard slip.

Stiles stared at the hand, then looked up the jacket covered arm and shoulder to the face of a smirking Peter Hale.

“It’s the way you like it,” Peter explained slowly. “Hot and strong.”

Stiles blinked. “ _What?_ ”

“The coffee. It’s for you. An apology for...” Peter paused, choosing his words, “Invading your territory.”

“I can buy my own coffee, thanks.”

“Really, I insist.”

“No, I don’t know what you put in it. Knowing you, it’ll kill me - or make me kill Derek - or something. No thanks.” Stiles looked ahead of him, trying to signal that the conversation was over.

Peter didn’t seem discouraged and chuckled. “Please, Stiles, no one thinks you could kill Derek.”

“Wow, yeah, that’s _really_ helping your case. How could I have ever thought you were shady?”

“Stiles,” Peter said, firmly, not annoyed but amused, as if trying to reason with a small, funny child. “Take the coffee. How will we ever build up trust and strength within the pack if we can’t accept simple kindnesses from one another?”

"No, Peter, go away.”

Peter sighed, finally seeming a little frustrated. “Stiles, do you really think I would do something to my alpha’s partner. He’d kill me. I _hate_ being dead.”

Which was true enough. Stiles regarded him and the coffee for another second before snatching it out of the man’s hand, excusing himself from the line, and hightailing it out of there.

The coffee was good, made the way he liked, and did not kill him.

~~~~~

“Who’s my favorite alpha?” Stiles asked, using the most obnoxious baby voice he could muster. “You are! You are!” He reached forward to scratch Derek behind the ears but had his hand swatted away.

“Stiles.” was the entirety of the chiding. Derek tried to look tough and disapproving but Stiles could see the corners of his lips twitching.

“Oh, please.” Stiles rolled his eyes and flopped down onto Derek’s couch. “You know you love me.” 

“Well, that has very little to do with it.” Derek said, sitting across from him. 

“Aw, so you do love me. I always suspected it.”

“ _Love?_ ” Derek asked, seeming completely astounded. “ _You’re_ the one who said _love_.”

“You didn’t deny it and therefore it’s true.” Stiles said.

“Ah, well...” Derek shrugged. “I guess you caught me then.”

“Ha! I did! Do I get a prize?”

“You can have my everlasting admiration.” Derek placed a hand over his heart and tried to look sincere.

“Oh, that’s boring. C’mere.” Stiles reached forward to grab a handful of Derek’s shirt, pulling him forward. He tugged Derek out of his seated position and to his lips, claiming the wolf with a kiss. 

“Now, that,” Stiles said, a little breathless. “Is a prize.” Affecting the same baby voice as earlier he asked, “Who’s a good boy?”

“You know I have no idea how to respond to that.”

“You’re supposed to say, “I am,” and look happy.” He bopped his boyfriend on the nose. “Duh.”

Derek caught Stiles’s hand in his own and said, “I am.” and, even if he was rolling his eyes, he looked happy.

Stiles kissed him once more for good behavior. 

~~~~~

“Has Derek called you mate yet?” Peter asked one morning over coffee. When, exactly, Stiles had shifted from just taking the free coffee the creepy old man gave him to actually sitting down with him he couldn’t say. But, he had, and he figured it was probably good for the “trust” thing they were trying. 

Stiles choked on his drink. He sputtered, “What? Mate? No. Mate? What? Why?”

Peter smiled. “No reason. You two just seem serious. I thought he might have mentioned something like that.”

“Like mates?” Stiles asked, shaking his head. “Isn’t that like being werewolf married? I don’t think Derek and I are at the werewolf marriage part of our relationship. ‘Cause I’m, uh, seventeen. I know _I’m_ not ready to be werewolf married.”

“That is a gross oversimplification.” Peter seemed amused, regardless. 

“Can I even be his mate? Isn’t it just a werewolf thing?”

“The bond that mates share is automatically stronger between two werewolves. However, there are certain steps a human could take that would lead to bonding. Of course, you could just turn someone or give a human a mating bite.”

“So what? Like on the neck or something?”

“Or something.” Peter repeated. “There are some less intrusive ways to create a bond as well. This includes various spells, herbs, etcetera.”

“And how would those work?”

“My, aren’t you curious?” Peter remarked. Stiles rolled his eyes and Peter paused to consider. After a moment, “Let’s say I wanted to mate you. I would put some herb - I forget the name - into your coffee for, say, a few weeks. This, of course, would have to be mixed with something of myself so the bond has a target. This could be blood, saliva, _semen_ ,” and he paused once more to grin at Stiles, who looked thoroughly unimpressed. 

He continued: “Once the bond was ready to take, you’d be sent into a sort of heat, which only I could pull you out of by means of mating.”

“And if your mate doesn’t mate you?”

“You overheat and die. But that rarely happens.” Peter assured him.

“And I take it this doesn’t have to be consensual on the part of the human.”

“No, it does not. Which is really why Derek should talk to you about mating soon. You never know what untrustworthy wolf might come and snatch you up.”

Stiles laughed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, uh-huh. Random strangers are all about putting a ring on this.” He made a vague gesture over his body.

“Don’t underestimate yourself. You never know what someone might want from you.”

Stiles finally looked outright confused, asking, “Why on earth do you think someone would want to mate me?”

Peter leaned back, considering the possibilities. “You’re intelligent, young, attractive. Your position in this pack could either help their own or cause damage to Derek’s alpha status. Most importantly, your scent. Sometimes that’s all that’s necessary.”

“My scent?” Stiles furrowed his eyebrows and he wet his lips, causing them to part. Peter’s eyes darted down to the boy’s mouth and smiled, before tilting his head to the side and meeting the boy’s eyes. 

“ _Your scent_.” was all he said before his eyes trailed over Stiles’s face once more. They were silent and Stiles felt himself caught up in the gaze of that man. He tilted his head opposite of Peter and bit his bottom lip without thinking. Peter just smiled, again, and stood. Without looking back, he tossed away his coffee cup and left the shop.

Stiles felt himself flush and he rubbed at his eyes, making sure he didn’t watch as Peter left. Checking his phone, he saw the time and texted Derek to come over to his house, deciding he needed to see his boyfriend.

~~~~~

When he got home, Derek was already there, sitting in his desk chair, reading. His boyfriend looked back and said one, “Hey,” before turning back to his book. Stiles returned the word as he bridged the distance between them.

“Hold on a minute,” the man said, one hand coming out to hold onto Stiles’s without looking up. Stiles didn’t really feel up to waiting though.

“Derek,” Stiles murmured, slinking into his boyfriend’s lap. He grabbed the book he was reading and tossed it aside.

“I was reading that.” Derek stated.

“Yes, you were. And now you’re not. Now you have a lapfull of Stiles. I’m not seeing the problem.” Stiles took Derek's hand and brought it to his mouth, brushing little kisses to each of his fingertips

Derek sighed. “I didn’t get to mark what page I was on.” 

Stiles wiggled a little, “ _Derek_ ,” he whined. “Mark me instead.” He took his boyfriend’s index finger in between his lips and nibbled at it slightly before really taking it into his mouth to suck.

“You’re impossible.” Derek remarked.

“Impossibly turned on. Get to work.”

And, just like that, Derek picked him up and flopped him down onto Stiles's bed. 

“God, you’re hot.” Derek muttered as he started to pull of his boyfriend’s shirt.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Stiles smiled, and started to unzip Derek’s jeans.

“No. Physically. You’re really hot. Like feverish. Are you feeling okay?”

Stiles huffed. “Well, I am experiencing some swelling that I would love your assistance with.” He squirmed in place and tried to send a look to Derek that conveyed all the need he felt. 

Derek put a hand on Stiles’s chest to pause him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

With a roll of his eyes, he admitted, “It is outrageously hot in here and I just want to take off my clothes and be naked. But I want to be naked with _you_. Isn’t that enough?”

Derek regarded him for one more moment before leaning down to kiss Stiles slowly. Stiles hummed in contentment and wrapped his arms around the man’s broad shoulders, pulling him into the Derek-sized space between his legs. The contact of Derek’s skin on his sent a roar of fire right through his body and he reached in between them, trying to dispose of his pants and quickly as possible. 

~~~~

At that point, Derek was starting to look tired. He was sluggish and clumsy and looked so put out when he lowered his head to Stiles again. And, if Derek was tired, Stiles was exhausted. He cried into his hands, sobbing at the sensation as his boyfriend began to suck another orgasm out of him.

“I can’t,” he wept, one hand coming down to fist through his sheets. “I just can’t.”

Derek didn’t say anything, didn’t stop.

“It’s too hot.” Stiles told him, and something was flagging in his mind. It was as if he knew the solution to his problem but just couldn't put his finger on it. “I’m getting too hot. This is going to kill me. I’m going to die.”

Derek pulled off for long enough to shush him before dropping down again, surrounding the boy’s flesh with heat.

“Just kill me.” Stiles begged, the words coming from his mouth mindlessly. “Every time - I just feel hotter. I can’t take it.” Derek didn’t stop, but ran a finger over Stiles’s well-used asshole. He pushed one finger in, easily, and tugged at the rim slightly. After the fourth time, Derek had needed a break from fucking Stiles. 

But, as he pulled at the loosened rim of his boyfriend’s hole, the boy moaned and sobbed out a repeated plea of, “ _Kill me._ ” as he came once again but remained hard.

Derek pulled back, and ran a hand through his hair. He was beginning to seem frantic, and he made a hollow, panicked sound deep in his throat as he regarded his writhing companion.

“Deaton,” he rasped out. “We need Deaton.”

“I don’t want to be fucked by Deaton.” Stiles managed to say. “Deaton can’t help me.”

“ _No_.” Derek growled, standing and moving away from the boy to pull his cellphone out from the pocket of his discarded jeans. He started to scroll through his contacts. “Deaton may know how to stop this.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” Stiles groaned, trying to sit up on the bed, as one hand instinctively came down to palm himself. “He can’t _know_. No one can know.”

“Stiles, I don’t know what to _do_.” Derek said, looking wrecked, and sounding like someone who had given too many blowjobs in the past few hours.

“I do.”

The third voice was an uninvited one, coming from by the window - but it filled Stiles with a cool relief that had him coming into his own hand. He looked up and his eyes were met by an icy blue stare. And, despite the rising heat still raging through his body, Stiles felt calm when locked in that gaze. Almost as soon as that calmness set in, another wave of arousal hit his body and he lay back, spreading his legs just a little.

“Peter.” Derek began, looking confused and angry and mostly weak. And, to Stiles, far less lovely.

“Derek, why don’t you go home? I can fix him.” Peter didn’t look at his nephew; only at the sweating, flushed and panting mess of boyhood on the bed. He seemed pleased to see him like this - smug - as if it were part of his grand design that he should come into such an event. And, Stiles realized as he once again began to beat out another orgasm (unable to stop himself), it _was_ Peter’s grand design.

“No.” Derek snarled.

“Fine,” Peter shrugged. “Stay. Watch. Learn how a wolf fucks its bitch.” And, in one fluid motion, Peter was at the edge of the bed where Stiles was sprawled on his back. He was pulling off his belt, kicking off his shoes, gazing down at his prey with a look of quiet contentment and clarity. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Derek asked, lunging forward to grab Peter’s shoulder. “I could kill you for this. You want to die twice?” 

Peter looked at him evenly and covered Derek’s hand with his own, prying it off. “My dear nephew, if you kill me, your young love will never come down from this and soon die. I fear we may have waited too long as it is.” Peter looked at Stiles with some sympathy and Stiles felt such serenity with the man’s eyes on him that he felt no worry at the words. 

Derek looked split, unsure of what to do with his uncle. Stiles didn’t have time for his hesitation. He simply spread his legs more and raised his hips for Peter, trying to show off his hole.

“Come on,” he whined. “Need you.”

And Derek was shattered as his smug uncle came to the bed and covered the boy’s body with his own.

“What do you need?” he asked, smirking as he tugged off his pants and shirt. “Be specific.”

Stiles cried out from sheer agony because Peter was torturing him. He was water for the fire raging inside of him and he was withholding. And, it didn’t make sense - no sense at all - but Stiles found himself begging, words tumbling, as he tried to please Peter.

“Need you inside me. Make me your bitch, Peter. Please, I’m going to die. You’re going to let me die if you don’t fuck me now. So, you have to fuck me now. _Breed_ me.”

Peter growled and Derek growled but for completely different reasons. Stiles felt a warm, comforting hand flipping him, and the touch was the best thing, the sweetest thing. He thought his heart might explode from the sheer intensity of Peter all around him. He felt the man’s finger’s prodding at his entrance, feeling how loose and open he was.

“How many times have you been fucked tonight, Stiles?” Peter asked, sounding amused.

“I don’t remember,” he whined.

“Did it feel good?” Peter asked, his fingers suddenly inside of him, a gentle, thrusting pressure.

Stiles couldn’t find his voice. He was too stuck on the feeling of Peter and the kindness the man was showing him and the unkindness the man was doing him by not mating him immediately. He shook his head. Behind him, someone whose name he couldn’t remember made a lost noise.

“You’re the one who wanted to stay.” Peter said, but Stiles didn’t understand what he meant by that.

“Peter,” the boy whined, wriggling his hips. “Peter, please.”

“Please, what?” he prompted.

“ _Fuck me_.” and Stiles emphasized his point by rocking back against his fingers.

“Stiles...” came a broken sound behind him. Stiles made a noise of displeasure and Peter chuckled. 

“Do you want to touch him? Still think you can pull him out of this?”

And then there was a burning hand under Stiles’s chin, lifting his face up. Someone who wasn’t Peter, who was not as lovely or cool or perfect as Peter, was gazing down at him. Their eyes were sad and hopeful and confused as the creature’s mouth said his name again. Stiles tore his face away and moaned for Peter.

“Oh, poor luck, nephew. Seems he’s uninterested.” Peter placed a hand on the small of the boy’s back and added another finger, twisting them all in order to get Stiles to groan again. “Best to leave now, I’d think.”

“No.” The other voice was all wrong. Stiles just wanted it to stop. He wanted Peter to talk again. “Have to make sure he’s okay.”

“Oh, he’s okay.” Peter pulled out his fingers. “I assure you. He’s in good hands.” He lined himself up with the boy’s hole and started to push himself in. 

He felt bigger than the thing Stiles had been trying to use to relieve the heat earlier. He filled him up better. Perfectly. It was as if Stiles’s body was built for Peter and his size. He couldn’t help but whine and push back, wanting to take all of the man’s length in. 

“How is that, Stiles?” Stiles just nodded and Peter pulled out quickly only to slam in hard, once. “Talk. You’ve always been so good at talking before now.”

“It’s so good, Peter.” Stiles blurted out. “God, you feel perfect. You’re so big. So much bigger than anything I’ve had. You fit inside of me so perfectly. God, want you to fuck me so badly. Please, fuck me, Peter.”

Peter obligingly snapped his hips forward and Stiles moaned.

“Want to feel like this always.” Stiles groaned as Peter set the pace, slowly and even and hard. “You’re so right. Love you so much.”

“What was that, Stiles?” Peter sounded smug, like he’d actually heard him. But Stiles didn’t want to upset him.

“I love you so much.” and he wanted to cry because it was so true and he felt so good and he was starting to come back to his senses and the fact that he loved Peter and not someone else was making something in him very sad.

There was a heavy sound behind them and Stiles could distantly hear something going out the window. He didn’t think about it too much. He was focusing hard on his building orgasm and the feel of Peter, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his breath more ragged and his cock feeling heaving and fuller and seeming to stretch him open even further. With a few more thrusts and a gentle pressure expanding against his prostate, he came and started to feel a lot less clsoe to overheating and insanity.

“What-” and Stiles had to back off because the gentle stretching of his ass had turned into something painful all of a sudden. It was too far and he thought he might rip if it went any further. “What is that?”

“Shh.” Peter soothed, kissing the back of his neck. “I’m breeding you.”

“But, I’m not-”

“I know what you are. You’re my mate. Wolves breed their mates.”

“But, I can’t-”

“ _Shh_.” and the added force in this hush made Stiles silent. The ache in his ass continued and he could feel Peter spurting his seed inside of him. His mate laid on top of him, pumping come into him, breathing heavy and silent.

Stiles knew something about this was off. He knew something wasn’t right. But, being still under his mate made him feel very calm. He felt safe and warm and protected, even if there was something in the back of his mind he was forgetting.

“Do you feel better?” Peter asked, one hand petting down the boy’s sweat-slick side.

Stiles said nothing, just hummed in contentment and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm worried this is a little disjointed, but I hope it's acceptable. Thanks for reading. I hope you have a good day.
> 
> Shameless tumblr plug: [My Blog](http://gigglesnortbangdead.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

Peter was gone when Stiles woke up. Despite feeling a slight pang at waking up alone, it was probably for the best because his dad must have been home by then. If the prospect of trying to explain Derek simply being in his room had seemed daunting, a naked Peter Hale in his bed would have been decidedly worse.

He got up gingerly, his entire being aching and singing, and he couldn’t stop himself from feeling satisfied. The shakiness in his legs and the soreness that enveloped his body only filled him with a sense of content pride. 

However, the more he thought about the previous night, the more he recognized what serious trouble he and his mate could be in. The whole ordeal had turned into a messy blur very quickly, but Stiles could remember Peter coming to his rescue and Derek fleeing the scene in horror or rage or sorrow or - 

But, that would need to wait. Stiles needed to shower and get his bed sheets in the wash as soon as possible. Tiptoeing down he hall, he felt incredibly grateful that his father had worked the night shift and would be asleep for a few more hours. 

Turning on the shower, Stiles tried to assess everything that had happened within the last twenty-four hours.

~~~~~

Peter was already sitting in the coffee shop, two cups of coffee in front of him. Seeing him brought Stiles a new and diverse wave of emotions, but his face lit up regardless and he stepped over to him quickly. Leaning down, he placed a light kiss on his mate’s lips, which was deepened when Peter laced his fingers through the boy’s hair and opened up his mouth, trying to take the boy apart with his tongue.

“We shouldn’t,” Stiles murmured, breaking away for a second before getting his mouth captured by Peter once more. “We need,” he managed out between a kiss. “To be careful,” Kiss. “Someone might,” Kiss. “See us.”

“Let them.” Peter said, though he drew back.

Stiles wanted to smile but tried to maintain composure as he pointed out, “I’m barely seventeen and you’re - Well, you’re old enough for this to not be kosher.”

“Do you think anything could possibly keep me from you? A silly, little law certainly couldn’t.”

And, considering what Peter had to go through to become his mate, Stiles figured that might be true. Even though he knew the sentiment should bother him, the devotion only filled him with warmth. And the knowledge that this deception was something he cherished now made him feel wrong. He decided to try and repress that for a moment. 

“While I don’t doubt that,” Stiles allowed, “I really don’t need my dad to find out about this through gossip. I think he’d have a heart attack - before or after trying to kill you.” Peter looked ready to scoff at the notion that the boy’s father could do anything of the sort so Stiles put a hand up. “Which he would fail at miserably and probably pay with his life for. I’m not losing my dad over this.”

Peter regarded him for a moment and then nodded. “Absolutely. I couldn’t agree more. However, once you turn eighteen-”

“We tell my dad I’m seeing you-”

“-And you move in with me.”

Stiles blinked. “What? Is that necessary?”

Peter leaned back in his chair, not looking phased. “Don’t you want to live with me?”

“Of course I do!” Stiles assured him. “I want to be with you always.”

“Which is why you’ll come live with me once you turn eighteen. If not sooner.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Stile told him before pausing. “We have a bigger problem.”

“Derek.” Peter supplied.

“Derek.” Stiles repeated.

“He’ll be hurt for a while, but it’s for the best. He’s not good for you like I am.” Peter said it like it was obvious - like it had always been obvious. 

Stiles wanted to kiss Peter again. He knew he should be mad at him - furious. But it was his _mate_. Being with him was both calming and exciting and Stiles had never felt so at ease or so in love before. He looked at his own hands to try and get himself back on track.

“You have to understand how strange this is,” Stiles started slowly. “Yesterday, I thought I was in love with him. He and I had been together for a while and I’m happy, Peter. I’m so happy right now. But I know, if you hadn’t done what you did, I wouldn’t feel like this - which is another issue in and of itself that we’re going to need to discuss later.

“If this wasn’t how mating worked, I’d still dislike you - and I hate that. But, Derek hasn’t gone through a change like this. And I don’t know if he’s going to be angry or upset or accepting when I talk to him - because I need to do that. But, what do we do if he throws you out of the pack?”

“He won’t.”

“But, if he’s mad-”

“Stiles, he loves you. While having to see you with your true mate may displease him for a while, he wouldn’t force your mate into an omega position because he would be effectively exiling you as well.”

“And if he threatens to kill you?” Stiles ventured.

“He won’t.” Peter said, firmly.

“But, if he does-”

“He won’t kill me. What do you think he’d accomplish by that?” Stiles was silent and Peter gazed at him, choosing his words. He then asked, “Do you think you could live without me?”

Stiles felt sick at the question; just the idea made his body freeze over. “No,” he said, “No, I don’t.”

“Then tell him that. Although, this is an unadvisable action. Just acting like everything is as it should be, which it _is_ , may be preferable.”

“No, I should talk to him,” Stiles sighed. He put his hand down on the table and Peter covered it with his own. They sat in silence for a moment. 

“Will your father be working the night shift?” Peter finally asked.

Stiles grinned. “Yes.” Peter returned the gesture. Standing and pulling his hand back, Stiles brushed his fingertips against the man’s jaw, tipping his face upwards, as he took in the complex loveliness of his mate’s face. He bit his own lip and met Peter’s eyes. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

Peter looked up to him, his lips parted, his eyes clear, and his brow slightly furrowed, as if he was confused how this had happened to him. He looked raw, unguarded, for the first time. It was the most open Stiles had ever seen the man.

There was a pause until Peter reached up and grabbed the boy’s wrist. Turning his head, he only pressed a kiss to the boy’s palm by way of response. Ice blue eyes flicked up to meet his gaze and Stiles didn’t know what to do with himself. 

Stiles wanted to lean down an kiss him right then and there, open mouthed and filthy. He wanted to shove everything off the table between them and have Peter fuck him over it. Mostly, though, he wanted to have his mate’s hands on him, always, and his mouth on his skin and his blue eyes fixed on his. He didn’t want to leave.

But, in the end, had to. 

~~~~~

Standing in front of Derek’s door, Stiles took a moment to collect himself and breathe. He knew that Derek would have heard him approach if the man was in. And Derek would be, unless there was an emergency, which Stiles would have known about too by then because communication was important and the emergency phone tree would have been activated. 

He reminded himself about the importance of communication as he knocked on the door. He waited. There was no answer.

He knocked again. “Derek, come on,” he entreated. “I know you’re in there.” But, now that he thought about it, there were plenty of other reasons why he might be out. Grocery shopping, beta training, finding a new teenager to replace Stiles with. He was listing even more reasons to himself and turning to leave just as the door opened. 

Derek stood there, wearing the clothes he had haphazardly thrown back onto his body last night as he fled Stiles’s room. His hair was a mess, sticking up and giving the impression that he’d been running his hands through it the whole night. His eyes were red-rimmed and he looked tired, miserable, and seeing Stiles probably didn’t help. Stiles began to rethink this course of action.

“Hey,” and Stiles frantically searched for an appropriate nickname, “Buddy. You don’t look so well.”

Derek just stared at him, as if both shocked and angered to see him.

“Right,” Stiles said. “Look, can I come in?”

“No. Just go away, Stiles. I’m busy.”

“With what?” Stiles asked, trying to sound light.

“Trying to find a way to fix you.” Derek murmured. He turned and walked into his apartment, Stiles following behind him.

“Fix me? I don’t need to be fixed. I’m fit as a fiddle. No fixing needed.”

“Yes, you do.” Derek said, and it almost sounded like he was laughing without the humor.

“Derek, I think you should get some sleep. I’ll come back later.” Stiles turned to leave but Derek called his named to stop him.

“What did he do to you?”

Stiles blinked. “He mated me, Derek.”

“But, _how?_ You were _mine_ and you don’t even _like_ him-”

“He’s been putting something in my coffee for a month or so.” Stiles explained, trying to sounds as unaffected as possible, like he thought it was no big deal. “I know it sounds bad-”

“You _knew_ about this?” Derek growled.

Stiles put a hand up. “Of course not. I’ve just been able to place everything by now. I was a little out of my head last night and I couldn’t think straight, but it all makes sense now.”

“And, so what? This stuff made you wanna be fucked by the next guy who rolls in and isn’t me?”

“ _No_.” Stiles stated. “Derek, please, calm down.”

“ _Calm down?_ ” Derek laughed, the same humorless bark as before.

“ _Yes_. Peter designed this whole thing so that he and I could finally be mates. It wasn’t just anyone. It wasn’t planned by me - it was him.”

“He almost killed you.” Derek pointed out. 

“But, he didn’t.”

Derek stared at him for a moment. “I’m going to get you back. I’m going to fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix. I’m happy.”

Derek looked heart-broken. He tried to convince him,“But, that’s not _real_.”

“Goddamn it, Derek.” Stiles snapped. “This is the happiest I’ve been in my life. Being with Peter - it’s like instinct. I’m absolutely satisfied with him. I’m _glad_ he did this. Happiness is so scarce around here and he made sure that we have that. He will always be able to provide that for me and I’m going to hold on to what I can, real or not.” 

Derek was silent, so Stiles continued, trying to sound calmer.

“He’s my _mate_ , Derek. I know I should be mad about this - really I do - but I’m just grateful that he helped me feel this way. Loving Peter is easy.”

“And loving me was hard.” Derek finished the thought.

Stiles looked down. “You don’t understand. When you find a mate, you’ll know what it’s like.”

“I _did_ find a mate.” Derek stressed.

Stiles exhaled slowly through his mouth. “Maybe this is too soon. I should have given you a few more days to get over this.”

“Days?” Derek shook his head. “You think days are all I need?”

“Derek, I’m sorry.” Stiles said. “I wish you could find someone soon. I want you to be happy like I am. No one has ever made me this happy.” 

The man looked furious, pained, and was silent for a moment as he contemplated the boy in front of him. In the next moment, he stepped forward, grabbed the boy’s shoulders to keep him in place, and brought his mouth to Stiles’s.

Stiles immediately began to struggle, his hands pushing at Derek’s chest and stomach, trying to squirm away. Derek backed him against the wall, and let one hand roam in between them, cupping Stiles through his jeans. He moved his lips down to the boy’s jaw and chin, to his neck, where he bit and sucked for a moment.

“Derek, stop.” Stiles demanded, sounding furious and feeling terrified because the last thing he had seen was the gleam of pure blue and he could feel sharp teeth digging into his neck and the other man could actually do some damage if he didn’t return to his senses and cease. But, to Stiles’s relief, the word did make Derek freeze and then pull back. He began to choke out apologies, his eyes downcast and voice thick.

“I can’t lose you, Stiles.” Derek admitted and he sounded close to tears. “I love you.”

“Well, I don’t love you.” Stiles said, a little stilted, his back still pressed against the wall to keep him away from the werewolf. “You’ll find someone you really love someday.”

“I’m going to kill him. You don’t do this to your alpha.” 

Stiles flared instantly. “Derek, you can’t kill him. I’m begging you. You can’t kill my mate - I’ll never be happy again. I’ll never be able to forgive you. Please, please, please, don’t say things like that.”

Derek gazed at him before saying, “You should get out.”

So Stiles did.

~~~~~

What was really unusual was how normal the rest of his day tried to be. He had hoped that something else might come up, something that would take his attention from the creeping panic he was experiencing. He had lunch with his dad but didn’t remember anything they’d talked about afterwards, and tried to do some of his summer reading but couldn’t focus and, even later, he found himself with a frustrating lack of things to do.

He received a few texts from Scott - the first one asking the seemingly simple question of _what’s up with derek today?_ A few minutes later when he didn’t respond, he received another one stating _he looks really bad. did something happen?_ It wasn’t until he started to get an increasing amount of texts from other interested parties that he turned his phone off. 

No one came over to try to talk to him, though, which he figured was lucky. He didn’t know how exactly to explain this. 

The bestiary’s section on mating was archaic and vague. And no two people on the Internet agreed as to what one might expect after being mated. The only reachable person who seemed to know anything on the subject was Peter and Stiles knew he needed to ask someone besides his mate.

Dr. Deaton might have also known a helpful thing or two but Stiles had no desire to ask him either. He acknowledged that the rest of the pack would need to be informed but didn’t want to put forward any of his own doubts about his situation. He knew that there would be enough adversity to Peter and his relationship that he didn’t need to add his own uncertainty to the list of flaws that would be pointed out.

All Stiles knew at this point was that he had emotions that he didn’t have the day before and he knew they were manufactured by Peter. He knew that Peter was his mate and that he loved him dearly but that no one would be able to recognize that, because the unorthodoxy of their relationship was appalling and disturbing and hard to swallow, even for him.

Which led him to the one thing his did not want to think about, even in a sidelong, vague manner.

Peter had tricked him and if it weren’t for that, he’d still think he was in love with Derek. Peter had lied to him, manipulated him, and put him in a situation where he would die without him. And Stiles loved him for it. He was _grateful_. And suddenly his mind could not repeat that enough. All logic said that he did not really love Peter and that what Peter had done to him was wrong and twisted and sick. And if the way Stiles had come into love was wrong and twisted and sick, then the love itself must be the same. And what we he for agreeing with it?

Every part of his body was rebelling. He wanted to curl up beneath his sheets and wring his hands through his hair and scream because what was happening shouldn’t feel as right as it did. He found himself wondering if locking his window and boarding up the front door and hiding under his dad’s bed like he used to as a kid would help and was then laughing hysterically, his fingertips lightly pressed over his lips as if to capture the sound.

He loved and trusted Peter, but that was wrong, and it made him wrong. And he wanted to be right because he thought he might actually deserve to be totally happy, as he wanted to be with Peter, who was untrustworthy and a liar with suspect intentions. 

And suddenly the air in the room turned thick and hot. Everything was too much and spinning and it was like he was breathing in water and he couldn’t get his heart to stop jack-rabbiting. He buried his own fingers in his hair and thought about tearing it out just to have something else to think about. He wasn’t meant for solitude or inactivity or having time to himself for reflection. He just needed someone with him but didn’t want anyone he knew because none of them would understand except his mate, who wasn’t there and who was the problem and who he shouldn’t have feelings for.

He remembered what he’s supposed to do right now - which is put on a sweater and drink peppermint tea and find a thunderstorm to listen to and count his breaths but just _can’t_ so instead he lies on his bed on his side, curled up, because that’s the only position where his heart feels like it won’t collapse, for an hour.

Which is how Peter finds him.

There’s a warm hand on his shoulder and a dipping weight on the bed beside him. “You should have called me,” a voice coos close to him, and Stiles can feel hot breath on his ear. He turns from his intent vigil of the wall and into the arms of Peter, reclining on the bed next to him. He buries his face in the man’s chest and feels a soothing hand tangle in his hair.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Stiles shook his head. “What do you want to do then?”

Stiles pulled back so he could look at him. “We should talk about Derek.”

“We can wait until tomorrow if it upsets you.”

“No, it... It’s okay.”

They were quiet for a moment, so Peter prompted, “How is my nephew?”

Stiles considered it, choosing his words. “He seemed hurt. More than I expected.”

“Well, of course he’s hurt. He lost you.” Peter brushed his fingertips over the side of his mate’s face and Stiles caught his hand, holding it to his cheek.

“I worry he might try something.” Stiles admitted after a moment.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” There was a pause. “He kept saying he would “fix” me.” Stiles laughed a little too weakly for it to seem genuine. “Isn’t that funny?”

Peter’s expression softened and he swiped his thumb over the boy’s cheek. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re allowed to be happy for whatever reasons you want.”

“Yeah...” Stiles murmured.

Peter kissed him softly, briefly. “Don’t feel so sad. It’ll be okay.”

Stiles looked up. “I love you,” he said.

“I know,” Peter smiled. “Thank you.” 

Stiles scrunched up his brow. “Don’t you love me?”

Peter looked suddenly remorseful and he immediately insisted, “Of course I do. How could I not love you? You’re my mate. But, after a life of insincerity, some words don't come easily. But, never doubt how much I care for you, Stiles.”

Stiles was silent, considering, and then nodded. “Okay.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips to Peter’s. “Okay,” he repeated, “We can work on it.” He kissed him again, but this time it was deep and open and longing.

They broke apart and moved together with no prompting from their partner, Stiles rolling onto his back while Peter moved to hover above him. One hand came to touch the plush pink of the boy’s mouth, his thumb dipping in just the slightest. 

“If you could see yourself, Stiles; if you could smell how you smell to me - You’d never question how I feel about you again.” His thumb was a little deeper now, playing with the boy’s tongue. “Having to see you with Derek, listening to you talk about him, it was maddening.” He pulled his finger out and bent down to kiss the boy’s neck.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles whispered.

“Shh,” Peter hushed into his skin. “The past is the past. You didn’t know any better.” And as he sucked a spot just below his mate’s ear, Stiles felt the wave of panic creeping up again so he shut his eyes very tightly and made a small noise in the back of his throat, becoming very still.

When he opened his eyes again, Peter was staring down at him with concern. His hand was lightly splayed on the boy’s neck. “Stiles, stay with me.”

Stiles looked up at him. The man hadn’t asked if he was okay or what was wrong - both questions that anyone else would have tried to make him answer. But, Peter just knew.

“We don’t have to do this tonight if you don’t want.” Peter said.

It wasn’t as if Stiles was suddenly sure of himself. He did not feel as if he were any less confused or anxious or wrong. He was simply consumed by how much he wanted Peter in that moment, that he didn’t think twice before reaching up, pulling the man to him, and kissing him.

It was all of a sudden a scramble - Stiles fumbling through his bedside table for lube, Peter pulling off Stiles’s jeans and boxers and throwing them aside before tugging down his own pants. Peter slicked up his fingers and Stiles’s hole before pushing one in. Stiles winced and Peter pulled out quickly.

After a moment's consideration, he flipped Stiles onto his stomach and pulled his hips up. He parted the boy’s cheeks and leant down, lapping at his mate’s rim.

“ _Ohmygod_ ,” Stiles gushed out. Peter huffed out a laugh before licking him again, his tongue flat against the hole. It wiggled about more, poking it’s way in gently. Slowly, alternating between hard, blunt swipes over the boy’s entrance and the soft, breaching prods, he fucked the boy out slowly and sweetly. Stiles could only make little half-syllable noises, cut-off _ohs_ and words that may have been _please_ or _Peter_.

Along with his tongue, trying to wiggle its way inside, Peter pressed one finger along Stiles’s rim, just stroking lightly. It pushed inside easily, alongside of Peter’s tongue, and pressed down over the boy’s prostate.

Stiles instantly shot up and bucked backwards, moaning and whining his uncomprehensible half-sounds.

After that, Peter was relentless. It was a constant barrage of sensation; the wet lapping at his hole and the wiggling inside and the incessant rubbing of the sweetest spot in Stiles’s body. And when Peter reached around with his other hand to palm at the boy’s dick, Sitle was gone, coming hard onto his mate’s fingers.

As he was coming down, he could feel Peter’s hand on his back, the same one that was still sticky and wet from the boy’s come, as he listened to the man jerk off behind him. Soon, he was shooting hot come onto Stiles’s ass and wet hole. What had sprayed on or near the boy’s rim was rubbed in, some being pushed into the boy’s entrance with a shallow-dipping index finger.

Peter collapsed on the bed next to a quietly panting and fucked-out Stiles. After a moment, he got up and left, returning a minute later with a cold, damp washcloth. He gently wiped down his mate’s backside before tossing the cloth aside. He stripped out of his shirt and fully pulled off his pants, and settled into bed with his mate.

Stiles murmured a groggy, “Thanks,” as he snuggled into the man’s chest. “That was what I needed.”

“Of course.” Peter said, like he had known. Stiles figured he probably had.

“Tomorrow, we talk.” Stiles assured him as he felt himself falling into sleep.

“Couldn’t agree more.”

“You make me feel so much calmer.” Stiles told him, trying to convey what a relief it was.

“Hush. Go to sleep.” and he already had.

Waking up alone the next morning, Stiles felt a little bit better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really one for series or sequels or continuations, but I hope this was acceptable. I hadn't planned to continue this, so I hope it makes sense and fulfills what you were hoping for. 
> 
> That being said, there will be one more chapter after this. I have a loose plan for it, but if you have a suggestion, let me know and I'll see what I can do. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this and have a really nice day.
> 
> Shameless tumblr plug: [My Blog](http://gigglesnortbangdead.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say a big thank you to everyone who commented and gave me their feedback. I really appreciate what all of you had to say and took it into consideration.
> 
> I also want to scream a big thanks from the rooftops to my master, my butchiepants, Grace G-Swagg. I love you, honeybunny. You're the best. Around. Nothing's gonna ever bring you down.

When Stiles got to the coffee shop that morning, Peter wasn’t there. Stiles didn’t quite know what would have held his mate up. It wasn’t as if Stiles was early. Regardless, he got in line and ordered two coffees, before receding to their quiet booth in the back corner of the store. 

He waited, knowing Peter wouldn’t be long. He was probably just stuck in traffic. He’d be there soon. Then they would talk and make a plan for how Stiles was going to learn to be okay and they could start being truly happy. 

Stiles pulled his phone out and finally turned it back on. He was really only looking for a message from Peter, explaining how he was running late and would be there as soon as he could. There was nothing, except the nine voice mails from various callers and an inordinate amount of missed texts. He refused to scroll through them. He just knew that whatever their contents were would upset him. They could wait.

He started to feel his anxiety rise the longer he sat there alone. He couldn’t wait til he moved in with Peter. At least then he wouldn’t have to wait around to see him in the morning. They could at least wake up together.

After another fifteen minutes, Stiles's coffee that he’d been trying to save was all gone and he was jumping every time someone entered the store. He texted a quick _Where are you?_ and waited for a response. When he did not receive one, he called Peter.

The phone rang four times before someone picked up.

“Stiles,” a tired voice sighed. It wasn’t Peter.

“Derek?” Stiles asked slowly. “Why do you have Peter’s phone?” And there was this gnawing, icy, nauseous feeling taking over his stomach because _why_ would Derek have Peter’s cell phone?

The man on the other side exhaled slowly. Stiles could hear someone saying something to him.

“Who is that?” he demanded. “Who the fuck is that? Where are you?”

“No one, Stiles. Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t _worry_ about it?” Stiles repeated, his voice rising. The couple next to him eyed him warily. He tried to ask as quietly as he could so the words came out soft and lost and broken. “Where’s Peter?”

There was a silence on the other line for a moment. “I need you to come to my apartment.” 

~~~~~

Scott and Isaac were both there when Stiles arrived. They stood off in a corner, covered in blood and slumping, watching him carefully as he found the thing in the room he was meant to see.

“Oh, no,” he moaned, but this noise was low and he could feel his throat closing up. He looked at Derek, who seemed shocked and horrified - not at what he’d done but at Stiles’s reaction to it. 

“Derek, no,” and Stiles felt his face begin to crumble as he slowly looked away from Derek and to the sight he was avoiding.

It as the most open Stiles had ever seen the man.

It was his chest and lower torso that made Stiles think so for the most part because they had been ripped into and it was as if he’d been gutted, his insides scooped out. He could, in fact, see that a good deal of what had been in the confines of his chest were on the floor or in a white, plastic trash bag. 

Stiles was violently sick, falling to his hands and knees and heaving. It was mostly just the coffee, burning back up, acidic and hot. He found himself gagging and sobbing, his body hitching forward to try and pitch the contents of an empty stomach. A hand rested on his shoulder that he threw off as he got to his feet, his hands shaking as he wiped his mouth. He took an unsteady step forward, to Peter.

“Stiles, stop.” someone behind him says but he takes another step and another and another until he’s standing over to his mate, lying on Derek’s table. He sees that Peter’s eyes are open and more blue than ever and he turns his head because he think he might get sick again. As it is, his heart is pounding and his chest hurts like it’s too fall and the feeling makes Stiles want to scream because his chest _is_ full.

“Oh, _God_ ,” he whispered. “Oh, God,” he repeated, louder this time as he feels himself losing his weak composure. He forced himself to look back at his mate, his hand coming up to close the man’s eyes with trembling fingers. He whined at the contact, the noise choked, deep in the back of his throat.

“ _Why?_ ” he managed to get out.

No one responded to him for a moment, until Derek took in a breath.

“No,” Stiles said, not turning. “Not you. Someone else.”

There was again a pause. Scott finally spoke up. “Derek told us that it would help you. He said that Peter had brainwashed you. And, I mean, _you_ weren’t answering your phone so I knew something was wrong-”

“So you killed my mate?” Stiles asked, finally turning to look at them with tears in his eyes. His voice was small, broken, like it was all he could handle over the calamity in his chest and stomach and head. He turned back to Peter, still lying, and reached over the hole. His hands fluttered there, as if he might dip them inside. “You tore his chest out,” he murmured. “You tore out,” and he stopped himself, his voice catching, and he finished by gritting his teeth and grinding out, “ _Everything_.” He’s crying again, tears and small, choked sounds escaping him. 

Derek made a distressed noise behind him and moved forward. Stiles put one hand out while the other came up to cover his eyes. “Stop. Do not come near me or I will kill you.” The threat was empty because this was the weakest Stiles had felt in a long time but Derek stayed back.

Stiles asked anyone, “Why do this to us?”

“Derek said that we can’t have him coming back. This way, it won’t be an option.” Isaac explained, very softly, as if he felt guilty. “There’s a, uh, ritual or something.”

Stiles shut his eyes very tightly and rubbed over them with his fingers. He wanted to weep, to scream, panicked and grief-stricken, because Peter had been so afraid of death and Stiles couldn’t do anything to save him. A sob wracked his body, his shoulders lurching, and he tried to stifle the others and get himself under control. He needed to keep his composure with Derek. 

He counted to ten and tried to breath slowly. He could still feel his heart in his neck and his chest feeling sore and his stomach trying to rebel, but he just exhaled once, slowly, before saying, “You two, go. I need to talk to him.” Once he’d heard the door shut behind him, he turned to face Derek.

Derek looked devastated and he was close to tears. “Stiles, I-” he gruffed. Stiles stared at him blankly, waiting for whatever explanation he could possibly have. “Deaton said this might work. He said if I killed Peter, you wouldn’t feel the bond anymore. He said it might-”

“Might?” Stiles asked. He put one hand up as if to gesture to the man behind him without coming too close. “You did this for a _might?_ ”

Derek swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the side and then to Peter and finally Stiles. He said nothing, just shifted his weight.

“I can’t tell,” Stiles began, anger shaking his voice. He paused. Breathed. “I can’t tell if you’re insane or evil or stupid or-”

“I’m in _love_ with you.” Derek stressed.

“So, all of the above.” Stiles snapped.

“Stiles, I though you would snap out of it. You shouldn’t be feeling the bond anymore-” He took a step forward so Stiles took one back, bumping into the table behind him. Peter’s arm fell off and hanged behind Stiles as he froze, tense. 

He turned and reached down to clasp his mate’s cold hand. There was no comfort to be felt through his flesh. The touch wasn’t the calming force it was just twelve hours ago. All of it was gone.

“You’re right,” Stiles said, looking down at where his fingers were entwined with Peter’s. “I’m not feeling the bond anymore. I can’t feel _anything_.” and he broke off, his voice hitching, as he realized what this all meant. He brought the man’s palm to his lips, resting Peter’s fingers on his cheek. He tried, scrunched up his eyes, wanting to feel the warmth the gesture had given him before. He sobbed, the sound muffled by the hand. Derek made another uncomfortable whine, like a sad dog. He watched Stiles cry into Peter’s hand, clutching it tightly, and said nothing.

After kissing his mate’s palm and resting the arm back on the table, Stiles said, “I was so happy. I know you didn’t understand - couldn’t. Who would possibly believe someone who had no choice in their situation saying that they were happy? But, it doesn’t matter how it happened. He made me happy. And I love him, Derek.” he paused and when he spoke again, his voice shook, “I jut can’t feel anything from him anymore.” He rubbed away more tears and turned to Derek. “So, good job. You killed the bond.”

“But,” Derek started, frantically searching for words to excuse his actions. “You didn’t have a choice. He took that from you. He _raped_ you. God, don’t you get that?” He sounded angry, but Stiles could tell who that was directed to.

“Is that all this is about? Some fucking territorial pissing match because Peter showed up and stole your favorite toy? You wanna be a goddamn white knight, riding in to preserve my honor?”

“You didn’t deny it.” Derek pointed out, weakly.

Stiles clenched his fists. “Rape isn’t the issue here. Stop _saying_ that.”

“But you _were_. You were forced into a situation where you couldn’t consent - you were going to _die_ if he didn’t fuck you. He _drugged_ you into thinking you loved him. How could you not know it was _rape?_ ” The word spit out like Derek was trying to hurt him with it. It was working more than Stiles wanted to admit. “Where have you gotten a choice in this?”

“Well, certainly not here.” Stiles croaked out, the word hoarse and lame. He arms gestured vaguely around them, to the entire situation inside Derek's apartment.

Derek looked like Stiles had hit him. His face turned mean again, his voice spiteful. “What I did was in hopes to bring you back to normal. What Peter did to you was _wrong_.”

The word hung in the air and Stiles didn’t think Derek could understand exactly what he had just said. But he couldn’t help himself when the observation made him place one hand on his brow, over his eyes, while the other stayed stiffly at his side. All of the gnawing anxiety was coursing through him, and the grief, and the knowledge that Stiles was wrong for feeling grieved. He murmured, “I hate that word.”

Derek was silent as Stiles tried to keep himself from crying again, until he said, “It’s better than living a lie.”

“I think it’s been established that you do not know what’s better for me.”

“A real Hell is better than a manufactured Heaven.” Derek offered quietly. 

Stiles bit down to keep from shouting at him. “Oh... Oh, _fuck you_. Who really believes that? God, do you know what happened to the man who wrote that? He died alone and friendless and miserable. He had _no one_.”

“No,” Derek corrected softly. “He died with the man he loved and the man he loved’s wife taking care of him. He was surrounded by people he loved. He wasn’t alone. You don’t have to be alone. We can get over this. I can fix this.”

Stiles laughed, the sound harsh and cutting. “You wanna be the next one to drug my coffee?” He took a step towards him for a change and Derek stayed firm in his place. Stiles continued his path. “You wanna mate me too? Peter liked knotting me and it was so _perfect_ inside me. I took it so well for my first time. We could say that Peter was just loosening me up for you.” And he was standing just a few inches away from Derek. He cocked his head a little, maintaining steady, unwavering eye contact until Derek ducked his head. 

“You wanna rape me too?” Derek was leaning back a little, his eyes skirting around the room. “Isn’t that what you wanted? To be my mate? We could do it over my dead mate’s body if you wanted. Wouldn’t that feel just _right_ to you? Really show him who’s better for me. Who __can provide me the most happiness.”

“Stiles, you’re not making sense.” came the stiff reply. “This was a bad idea.”

“Oh, it was a _bad idea?_ ” Stiles repeated. “You think carving out the chest of my _mate_ was a _bad idea?_ God, I wished you’d died in the fire.”

And suddenly Derek’s crumbling, finally crying, but can’t say anything. He just falls to his knees in front of Stiles, sobbing. 

Stiles looks down at the other man for a moment and suddenly realizes that he lost his mate too. He doesn’t apologize. He steps around him and to the door. Opening, Isaac and Scott were standing there, in various stages of horror, not trying to hide their eavesdropping. 

“Take him somewhere else.” Isaac brushed past him while Scott stood in place, gaping. Stiles tilted his chin up and held his gaze as best he could.

“What the fuck?” Scott asked, not seeming mad or accusing, just lost.

“You should help Isaac,” was all Stiles could say, He stood aside as they helped their alpha out of his own apartment. 

Stepping back in and shutting the door behind himself, he was alone with Peter for the last time. He stood just barely inside for a moment, only seeing part of the table. He took one step forward and then a long inhale and a longer exhale to try and work up the courage to go back to him.

“Peter,” he said, his voice uncomfortably loud in the quiet of the house. He expected the reply he received as he made the final steps towards his mate.

“You were,” he began, looking at Peter’s face and not at the gore of his chest. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and he couldn’t help it anymore. “We were going to talk today and you were going to tell me that I’m allowed to be happy. You were going to convince me and I was going to believe you. You were going to tell me why I wasn't wrong and you didn't. Now I'm never going to be _right._

"And we were going to fuck tonight and tomorrow night and move in together and you were going to say you loved me.” He spoke as he shook. “I never got to hear that you loved me. I was going to teach you how to say it but now _I’m never going to hear it_ ,” and he stopped for a moment, his face buried in his hands.

“You gotta come back, Peter” he told him, putting his hand down and touching the man’s cheek. “You gotta find a way to come back to me because I love you and I need to teach you how to say it back to me.”

He was silent for a moment, looking over his face, trying to find a sign or signal that he understood. He received none, and he broke down sobbing. “It’s not fair, it’s not _fair_. Peter, you can’t leave me.” His hands found the man’s shoulders and jostled him. “Can you hear me - you have to find a way back. You have to come and fix me, Peter, because _I’m wrong_.”

He doesn’t say anything else - can’t - but kisses him once more, leaning down, and his shaking hands skate over the emptiness and broke ribs before turning his heel and running to his car. He passes Isaac and Scott and Derek in the hall, who had all been listening, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

At home, he sobs on his bed, wailing and cursing and clutching his chest.

~~~~~

Sometimes he dreams a cool hand stirs him from sleep and says _I’m back I’m back_ hot in his ear. He wakes up and searches and searches but sees no one and sobs for the rest of the night, alone.

No one comforts him.

~~~~~

Derek comes by his house with a cup of coffee done the way he likes it. The _exact_ way he likes it. Stiles drinks it down quickly and slams the door in Derek’s face. He prays for a quick few weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I've stated, sequels, continuations, and series are not my thing. So, I hope this is all right. 
> 
> Uhm, originally I had an ending planned with Peter taking Stiles on a Mickey-and-Malory-Knox-esque crime spree, because I think it's so delightfully romantic. I've since realized that many people don't share this opinion and wanted Peter's blood. So, uh, hoped this satisfied that. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this and I hope you have a lovely day!
> 
> Shameless tumblr plug: [My Blog](http://gigglesnortbangdead.tumblr.com/)


End file.
